


Reassurance of a Common Neutrality

by MarbleAide



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Fighting, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Muteness, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pets, Physical Abuse, Sexual Content, Sibling Incest, Slavery, Underage - Freeform, dub-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-09 04:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarbleAide/pseuds/MarbleAide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, it's not alright and that in its self is comforting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write something with Sebastian as a slave to Jim and it grew into something a little bit more...
> 
> Chapters will probably be updated quickly.
> 
> Sebastian and Severin are three years apart, with Sebastian being the younger.

The first time Sebastian ever heard his older brother tell him _‘It’s going to be alright.’_ he was four and every time he moved his arm a new burst of white hot pain would crawl up into his skull and make everything hurt. He’d stopped wailing, but the headache still pounded in his head and his eyes were still red and puffy-wet, though no tears fell anymore because there were no more left to come out.

He’d just been swinging. He didn’t understand it, his fingers twitching in the most unpleasant way that made him whimper and tuck his arm closer to his chest, which only made the pain worse. Severin was calling out for their mother, torn between wanting to run inside and stay with his brother until help came. Luckily, they didn’t wait long as their mother came out in a panic and yelled more out of fright then anger, almost unable to pull Severin away from his brother’s side—trying to rub his back and pet his hair to make it better.

Severin cuddled next to Sebastian all the way to the hospital, telling him ‘ _it’s alright, it’s alright’_ over and over again until Sebastian fell asleep from the exhaustion of crying and the throb of pain. He woke up again when they arrived at the hospital and screamed when the bone was set.

Later, when the cast was put in place and Sebastian was allowed to go home with his mother peppering kisses to his still-damp cheeks and the fingers of his now good hand clutching onto his brother’s hand, Sebastian remembered that Severin was right. It was alright now. He went around bragging for a whole two weeks about the awesome neon-green cast wrapped around his arm.

The second time it happened, Sebastian was seven and his hands were shaking terribly for a reason beyond that of the cold chill from the wind. The metal he grasped felt far too heavy and far too cold, but their father insisted it was something ‘ _every man had to learn’_. Sebastian could remember their parents arguing in hushed whispers when every light in the house was dark except for the little one hanging over the kitchen island. Their mother said no, over and over again, that Sebastian was too young and that he could wait  another year or ten, but their father was not taking it and—whether their mother had agreed or not—here they were on the moors with the fog curled around their feet.

Sebastian jumped back every time the loud bang of a trigger being pulled echoed and flinched with the crack of a broken clay disc. Father had mentioned not going for a ‘real hunt’ until the right season came. Sebastian didn’t know if he ever wanted the right season to come.

Severin was there and let off his own loud bangs with the pull of a trigger, making Sebastian quiver with wide eyes and his own gun in hand. He didn’t want to, but knew if he didn’t their father would be upset with him.

“It’s going to be alright,” Severin had said down to him with a little smile as he helped Sebastian hold the gun properly. Sebastian stared up at his older brother and didn’t know if he was telling the truth or not this time around.

When he pulled the trigger for the first time he was pushed back and a blossom of pain shot through his shoulder. There was a moment when he thought he had broken it, just like he’s done his arm three years ago, but with some inspection it just bruised something horrible and ached for the next three days. He cried about it and said he didn’t want to shoot the gun ever again with their father looking down at him in a very confusing way that Sebastian didn’t understand.

That night Sebastian could hear their parents from his room, shouting at each other in quiet voices downstairs. It made Sebastian whimper, curling into himself and hiding away into his pillow, because it was about him, wasn’t it?

“You’ll get used to it.” Severin murmured to him in the dark when he’d come in to snuggle against his brother. It made him feel a little better, having Severin hold him, but Sebastian didn’t know if he ever wanted that to happen. Getting used to it.

The next time it happened it was raining, which wasn’t unusual really, but Sebastian really, really, wished that the sky was brighter that day. He was eight and held Severin’s hand as he stared down at the pile of dirt that was growing bigger and bigger as time went by. Sebastian was scared this was how he’d remember his parents, piles of dirt, and had to look away.

This time, when Severin said it, _‘It’s going to be alright_ ’, there were tears in his eyes as he wiped away Sebastian’s own and, sobbing, Sebastian called his brother a liar. He didn’t know if he meant it or not, probably not, but even still he doesn’t remember. All he knows is after the words left his mouth, Severin clutched his little brother tight and they cried together even after the rain stopped.

The last time Sebastian ever heard those words spoken by his brother, it was six months later and debts needed to be paid. The house and car had been sold, all the furniture and their mother’s jewelry, but still there were chunks of money that weren’t accounted for as their father had kept too many things secret.

That is how the Moran brother’s found themselves stripped of everything they knew and thrown into a cage, freshly washed and shivering with a little band around their wrists with a number on one side. They’d only heard about the slave trade on the news or seen someone walking down the street with their eyes cast down and a band around their arm. It wasn’t something either of their parents exposed them to, though the tradition of it was still quite wide spread throughout the world.

Sebastian didn’t cry about any of it now, having spent too much time doing so with their parents deaths, but Severin still held him close when he shook and ran his fingers through his hair. He’d whisper softly to Sebastian when people walked by, checking the charts that hung from their cage and over and over again Severin promised they’d both be alright.

_Alright, alright, it’s going to be alright, I won’t leave you, I won’t let them hurt you, don’t worry Seb, your big brother will protect you._

Sebastian was not so daft as to believe this, however, and watched closely day after day as the other slaves around them were bought up and replaced by others. People of different ages and ethnicities, male and female and all for different reasons.

There was an elderly man that was across from them who smiled at the young boys with kind eyes and a grin that was missing two teeth, but still Sebastian didn’t find him scary. His skin was sun darkened and rough, fingers calloused and knees knobby. He was advertised as a garden worker half off because of his bad back, but could still grow the most beautiful flowers in the worst of soils.

And then there was a girl, she wasn’t there for very long, only three days and two nights. She was still young—maybe five years older than Severin, he guessed, and had been brought in with a dark bruise across her cheek that only looked darker framed by her bright red hair. She slept in a cage like all the other slaves, but was let out during the days with her ankle tied down to a thick stake that was stabbed into the ground. She didn’t wear too much clothing, so Sebastian could see her pale stomach and her freckled shoulders. She danced and curled her fingers at passing men, whether they were with a partner of some sort or not. Severin told him not to look, but Sebastian couldn’t help himself and always found his eyes drawn from her dirty bare feet to her stomach and up to her face were she looked so sad behind her eyes.

One day Sebastian woke up and she was gone, her cage empty until a few days later it was replaced with another girl, but she didn’t dance.

After some time, Sebastian lost track of the days and just woke up when he was supposed to and ate when he was supposed to and slept when he was supposed to. Severin, he knew, still counted the days. He snapped at the people who passed them by and always made the bars of their cage ring loud when someone looked at them both for too long.

That’s how Severin got taken away from Sebastian for the first time, returned hours later to be thrown inside again not moving at all. Sebastian saw the red marks criss-crossing his back and knew what happened, having seen it done to a few other slaves that decided to make trouble. He crawled up to his brother, tucking himself underneath his arm and looked at Severin with worried eyes.

He didn’t say it, but Sebastian could see it in the way his lips quirked up into a little smile, even though his eyes were dark and distant, which only made Sebastian whimper and cry softly into his brother’s chest until both of them fell asleep together.

Severin got whipped regularly after that, smacked around until his lips were covered in red and his eyes blackened by broken blood vessels. Sebastian told him to stop, begged him to be better, but Severin just hushed him and said it had to happen. Severin was put on sale not soon after, advertised to be rough and troublesome and a fighter. Sebastian didn’t understand all that much, but knew it was something bad.

It took another two weeks for Severin to be sold. That both fought back this time around, trying to hold each other and not let their grips be broken. They screamed and yelled and bite until someone hit Sebastian too hard and made him let go, falling to the ground with blackness bubbling up in his vision. He could hear Severin screaming, trying to struggle free, calling his little brother’s name over and over again until he too was silenced with a sharp poke from an electric prod.

The last time Sebastian saw his brother, he was being dragged away by two men in a world of blurry colors and all Sebastian could do was listen to the echo of his own name being screamed inside his ears.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of underage rape in this one. You've been warned.

After a while, Sebastian grows accustom to being hungry. After Severin is taken away, he doesn’t eat for two days until the empty ache in his stomach can’t be ignored any longer and he has to crawl over to the meager foods provided to him. He can’t remember ever really being ‘hungry’ before. Of course, he knows the sound of a stomach growling and has whined a time or two whenever supper had been pushed back because their father was coming home later, but this feeling was entirely different. It was a hunger that disappeared after a while, only to return like a punch to the gut. It made him growl and shake, feel too weak to do little more than curl up in his cage and sleep it all away, as if that would make it better. When he does finally eat, when his stubbornness finally stalls for the time being, Sebastian swears he’s never tasted anything so good. It’s only a shred of bread, water, and a piece of some dried meat that Sebastian can’t name but tastes so smoky and salty on his tongue that he’s licking his fingers clean afterwards.

The next day, he’s given an apple instead of meat and finds himself sucking at the flesh after each bite, being very careful not to let any of the sweet juice escape his lips. He’s still hungry afterwards, always is, but the ache slowly subsides until Sebastian doesn’t notice it much anymore. He loses weight quickly, but he’s satisfied enough to not be concerned, taking every bite like a blessing.

The one thing he doesn’t get used to, however, is the feeling of being alone.

There’s other people that surround him. Other slaves that come and stay for a while, those that he’s always known to be there, and those that he only sees like a fleeting glance. He silently wonders where they go, because most of them are young girls it seems and at times young boys, and quietly he tells himself he knows, because he does, and just doesn’t want to admit it. At night, when all the lights are out and the sun has set to darkness with the only light coming from whatever sliver of moon is out that night, Sebastian silently wonders if that will happen to him. And then he wonders where his brother has gone to and where they’ve taken him.

He doesn’t talk to anyone, doesn’t meet anyone’s eye, and there’s a distance to all his actions. He keeps to the back of his cage, doesn’t react much when anyone comes by to inspect him. After the first week of Severin being stolen, he fought and struggled when one of the owner’s attempted to take him from his cage, but he’s too weak to do much now and soon he doesn’t struggle at all, though he doesn’t make it any easier.

Sebastian has never been apart from his brother this long before, as Severin had always been a constant in his life; a solid point that never moved. Now, without him, Sebastian felt lost in the world. Without his parents, without his brother, Sebastian was utterly alone. He asked for Severin back multiple times, in quiet whispers under his breath to the God their mother liked to pray to at her bedside and before eating. She said it helped, because he was always there listening, but this time around Sebastian spoken and there was never a reply. He wondered if his mother lied to him and, after so many attempts, stopped trying to talk to God all together, because it was clear he wasn’t going to give Severin back to him, even if he was listening.

Three more months pass before Sebastian is sold. His birthday comes and goes and is only aware of his change of age when the owner comes to update the chart with all the various little facts of information on it. He says something like ‘Happy Birthday, pet’ in a rough voice before throwing an extra apple to Sebastian who only just registers the sentence before he’s devouring the delicious fruit.

Four days after that, he’s being dragged out from his cage with another three slaves in the area, having his wrists tied together. Sebastian’s terrified of it, stumbling when he’s pulled along and only just keeps up so his new owner doesn’t bark curses at him so loudly. Says he paid too much already for a tiny thing like him. Says he better be worth it. Says he better not break after the first week.

At this, Sebastian is terrified, blue eyes wide as he almost struggles to get out of his bonds. Almost.  There’s a gentle touch to his shoulder before he ever starts, making Sebastian jerk back and look up into the tanned face of the old man who’s cage was across from his own and smiled at him so often, just as he’s doing right now.

“It’s not so bad, little one.” The man says with the missing-teeth grin. “You’ll be okay. I’ll teach you.”

He doesn’t quite know what it means, but Sebastian accepts it none the less. It’s the first words of comfort he’s heard in however long and there is a safety in them that he holds on to for as long as he can mange.

His owner is named William Hale, but Sebastian is only ever allowed to refer to him as ‘Sir’, as are the rest of the slaves. He owns a large house and an even larger property with a variety of slaves to work it. There’s twenty-two in all, twelve to work the outside and another ten for the inside. Sebastian quickly realizes that all the men are always outside while the females are moved behind the heavy doors. He looks longingly at the glimpse of the inside of the large manor, with marble floors and plush sofas and the feeling of cool air on his face. All things that Sebastian thought he forgot about, and now remembers how much he longs for them.

Soon enough, however, when one of the other garden workers— (still young, in his twenties, but had a horrible hunch to his shoulders that made him took ten years older. He always kept his gaze down at the flowers he watered and Sebastian wondered if it was because at least when he was looking down he’d always see something beautiful.)  —he caught Sebastian’s gaze turned towards the window’s of the house once and quickly frowned, turning right back to the soil.

“You’re better off out here.” He grumbled, voice rough from thirst and Sebastian realized he didn’t know the other’s name at all. “It’s safer.”

And that, that confused Sebastian. He looked up from his work and found men who watched over them, eyes sharp and ready to punish any of them that might slip out of line. He’d witnessed whippings that left men bloody and begging, hunger and thirst that drove some insane, and some were locked outside to kneel on the hard ground for days to think over their quick tongues. How could it be any worse inside where the sun was simply beautiful instead of blazing, where the smell of tea and baked goods was plentiful. How?

Sebastian found out soon enough and after he never wanted to go inside again, thinking the walls would be covered in blood as he walked through the halls.

William Hale had a wife and two children, both boys that spent more time in school then at home. He took pride in his showcase of wealth and often knew the taste of it from his fine wines. He also, as it turned out, had a taste for young girls. Untouched girls that he bought for a high fee and used just as quickly as they came. The girls were shifted around much more quickly than the men, as the men were used until they were broken and the girls used only until they were loose.

It’s how Sebastian learned what anger was and remembered however long ago when his brother told him that, broken and bruised on the floor:

_“It had to happen.”_

He was twelve at the time and familiar with the ways of the house, of work, of being a slave. His fingers were calloused and his back and arms strong, having grown up and out in the past years.

The sky was dark that night, never would he forget it, moonless and starless among the black clouds. He slept in the back house with the rest of the male slaves, curled up on beds of straw that caved into their forms and grew comfortable over time. Everything seemed at peace for the moment, quiet and calm and almost at ease. It all shattered with the cried out scream and the sudden wash of lights that flooded from the house, rousing the slaves outside.

Sebastian woke blurry eyed, but got up first, moving to the door to stare out and wonder what was going on. There were loud curses and more screams, cries for help and before Sebastian’s eyes could adjusted to the white yellow lights he tried to blink into focus, his body was collided into with another that clutched him, warm, and begged.

“Please, please, hide me, save me, don’t let him take me!” The shrill voice spoke, panicked between choked sobs. Sebastian looked down, now very much awake and very much focused, at a girl who could be no older then himself with a pretty ripped dress dangling from her frame and her brown hair wound into tight curls. “Please, please! I beg of you!” She still cried, so Sebastian held her tight out of reflex even though she still struggled in his arms, crying against his shoulder, always muttering ‘please, please’ under her breathe.

Not a minute later Sebastian looked up to find some of the guards running out from the house carrying whips and ropes along with their owner, face bright red and Sebastian doubted all of it was from frustration. Something in Sebastian snapped right there, fracturing inside his stomach and made him stand all the taller, pulling the girl quickly behind him as if to hide her from the world. He made no move to give her up when the other men stopped before him and demanded her.

“No.” Sebastian said, voice firm as he glared and his fists curled. He could feel the girl shivering behind him, tears wetting the back of his shirt as she clung. It made Sebastian want to refuse all the more. “No,” He said again, this time louder as he found the courage in the word and the anger in his heart. “I won’t let you have her.”

There was no lasting against men twice his height with weapons that beat them both to the ground , though it did take a very hard hit to the back of his neck with a club for Sebastian to finally let the girl go, and only because he found blackness surrounding him too quickly and his limbs going weak.

He awoke chained to the ground and was left there for three days with no food and water only from what he caught in his cupped hands when it rained. After that night, he didn’t see that girl again, not knowing if she was dead or traded, but had frequent nightmares about her pleads and he refused to never forget it.

Over the next two years, Sebastian learned to stand tall even when he was beaten down. His back carried heavy scars and he took all the new wounds with gritted teeth. He refused to give in, speaking his mind frequently and fought back when he could. Most of the other slaves kept to themselves, ignoring him when he passed out from pain in the middle of the grass, all except the old man with the missing teeth to just smiled and helped Sebastian tend his wounds in the evenings.

A reputation grows and his owner takes notice quickly.

One morning he’s forced onto his knees instead of send out to work and has his head shoved down by his hair, but Sebastian still pushes against it, looks up through his fringe and glares hard towards the form of Hale who stands towering above him.

“So, you like to make trouble, boy?” The man says, smiling while he does it with a fat face that drips sweat in the sun. “Like to fight?” Sebastian growls and tries to jump forward, but he makes no progress and is only held down all the tighter. It only makes Hale’s face stretch wider. “Well then, I think I’d like to show you what a real fight is.”

The world below ground is much worse than the one above. It’s filled with cages and blood and sweat, all funded by the mauling of men by other men and continued by the cheers of the betters who’ve wagered on one or the other.

Sebastian learns quickly, as is the only way to survive down there, and earns more scars in the process that leave him with the nickname of ‘Tiger’ among the ring. It’s never clean fighting, and Sebastian soon learns that as a knife slashes across his face that leaves blood dripping into his right eye and clouds his vision in red. It only makes him angrier, making him move faster, and his opponent is on his back in no time, wrist broken and scrambling to get up.

It’s the first time Sebastian’s ever told to kill a man and he’s only just fifteen. The world around him is cheering, screaming out for more blood, more death, and Sebastian takes a moment to look around him at the carnage. People cling to the iron rungs, making the metal cage ring as they bang it back and forth and everything echoes in the musty room. His eyes fall back to his master, that stands in his corner on the outside looking oh-so pleased and he nods, because this is what Sebastian has been made for, this is what he’s meant to do.

But he doesn’t, refuses, and walks away from the fallen man as the crowd boos and shouts around him.

Sebastian simply screams back, roars with it, and curses his master’s name, tells him no and doesn’t budge.

It’s the last thing Sebastian remembers saying and it almost makes him laugh now to see how things have changed and, oh, how his grand nobility has fallen.

The rest of the night after that is a blur, being beaten and spit on and finally thrown into unconsciousness only to be woken up against by the pain that stabs through his throat. He tries to scream, but only a gurgle comes out that leaves him coughing up blood, only making it worse.

When he’s visited later, after blacking out once more and coming to the surface against with a kick to his stomach, Sebastian is given pills that are forced down his throat and water that only makes him cough again, no matter how thirst he is. He spits up the water and it’s tinged pink with blood and every groan Sebastian makes is quiet and hurt.

His owner just smiles.

“Decided I didn’t like your little roar, so I took it away from you, Tiger.”

Still groaning in pain, Sebastian doesn’t understand at first, but after a few days he does. His voice is gone, torn out of his throat by a surgeon’s rough hand and for a while he’s given medication to help it heal. He can’t form proper words anymore, only little sounds that he tries so hard to get out and only causes more pain.

Like everything else, he gets used to it, just like he does the killing, because he’s learned and the next time Sebastian is asked he does not hesitate to crush the other fighter’s throat.

He learns to avert his eyes and lower his head and obey.

It feels like the right thing to do.

And Sebastian cannot object anymore, though he hates the praise he gets, hates how he grows and knows how to test his own bones. Hates that he can’t count the number killed on his fingers anymore and hates how he can tell how a dead eye looks compared to a living one.

The feeling grows, festers, bubbles up and strikes out in the ring and retreats again when he’s exhausted and curled in on himself to sleep.

But, above all else, Sebastian soon realizes that the thing he hates most is when he hears it, the voice,

_“Oh, I do like the look of this one. How much for him?”_

And it sounds like salvation.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dub-con in it.
> 
> Sebastian is 16 and Jim is 27. 
> 
> And I'm sorry not sorry about how long it got....yeah. Also Richard will be in the next chapter, woohoo!

His teeth are inspected first. A hard grip on his jaw as his lips are pulled out of the way for the inspection. It takes everything in Sebastian’s power not to bite down on the fingers invading his mouth, rolling over his tongue and touching on every tooth, one after the other, and pressing down on the gums, hard, when there isn’t one to find. He’s missing two molars, one on the top and bottom of his left side because he favors the right when he stands to face another. One had been hit out and the other cracked, so he had to pull it himself.

When the fingers are removed, Sebastian feels his body tense up when the saliva is cleaned off them in his hair. But he doesn’t react to it at all, forces his head down and the tightness of his muscles to ease. The rest of his body is quickly inspected, his ears pulled to look into, back forced straight to see the curve of his spine and all his fingers and toes pinched to see if he winces, which he does, because two of his toes are still heeling from breaks and he hadn’t managed to set his left index finger back into place yet. The tissue around it is swollen and bruised, he tries not to look at it when it’s touched, but the half-noise that comes from his throat is still heard.

“Look at me.”

The order takes a moment to register as an order, because he’s so used to obeying a different voice. It’s repeated and the toe of a well polished shoe is kicked into Sebastian’s thigh. It doesn’t hurt, but it makes him listen, turning his head up.

Sebastian knows nothing of the man that stands before him now, only that he hears his name thrown around off-handedly be some of the slave owners to various degrees. Sometimes it’s all hushed out of fear and sometimes it’s loud in a mocking way, but there is always a nervous air surrounding the latter. As if everyone listening was waiting around for a trigger to go off and everyone listening would be dead.

Moriarty.

And Sebastian stares at the man. Stares because he doesn’t know any better. Stares because he thinks he knows pain and death and sorrow. Stares because he was told to and stares because Moriarty does the same back.  It’s…interesting, Sebastian thinks, because the more he looks at this man, unblinking into his eyes, he realizes something. No one he’s ever seen has ever had eyes like that when they’re breathing. Living, he means, because James Moriarty is clearly alive and yet his eyes look so…so…

Dead.

Moriarty is the first to look away, turning his head to now pull his attention to Sebastian’s master who’s a few feet away on his knees as well with two men on either side of him to hold him there (Sebastian tells himself he thinks nothing of it, doesn’t turn his gaze that way, but knows the tugging feeling in his stomach is something like long overdue satisfaction). He keeps looking even when Moriarty is not, because he’s still searching for the light that is absent and wonders.

“There’s scar tissue in his throat.” Moriarty’s voice cuts through the thoughts as he talks to his master. “Clever little trick, when you’re tired of them barking. Cut the vocal chords, take their voice away, but this does mean he’s damaged…”

This process is all normal when dealing with slave trades or purchases. Sebastian has seen enough of it, though he is quite aware that usual circumstances to not involve the level of fire arms currently being held in the open and having one of the owners on their knees. But Sebastian isn’t complaining. It’s not his place to do so, after all. And, besides, he thinks, a change of pace might be nice.

Moriarty offers up five grand and Hale spits on his shoes, grits his teeth and curses out he earns that much in a night from Sebastian’s fights. There’s a grunt and gasp of air as Hale crumbles onto the ground from the fist in his stomach. Sebastian knows exactly how that feels and makes no move to protect his master in any way, even though he can see that order glaring up at him from the wheezing man on the floor.

“You broke him beyond fixing.” Moriarty continues voice just a little bit louder to be heard above the heavy intake of air. “That lowers his price significantly. I’m being generous, in every sense.”

There is one thing Sebastian has grown to always dislike over the years is how easily people can put a price on another human being’s head. He can still feel the blood and dirt under his fingernails, hear the loud heartbeat in his ears and recall the break of skin under his knuckles. Doesn’t remember how many other men he’s killed. Doesn’t know how much blood and thinks that their lives were all bid on by strangers.  Is that how much he’s worth? Five thousand pounds, the nightly wagering of a man who’s too drunk to even care.  

Sebastian turns his head back down. Wishes he was deaf instead of mute. Wonders if punctured ear drums would have hurt more than a cut up throat.

Through bargaining, the price goes up to eight grand and a check is written out on the spot. Sebastian’s master is still fuming on the ground as he’s forced at gun point to sign off on rushed paperwork that declares Sebastian to not be his property anymore, stating that the slave #452-21-842 has been legally paid for and handed over to one James Moriarty.

After that, the document is tucked into Moriarty’s jacket pocket and Sebastian is dragged to his feet, though he would have gone willingly. He’s shoved and pulled and stumbles because of it until he’s taken into one of the ‘cleaning’ rooms of the underground and stripped down by Moriarty’s men. When he’s naked they throw cold water on him, drenching his body until he’s curling in on himself shivering. There’s a scream at the back of his throat that never escapes as he’s pulled up and scrubbed raw until every part of him is red and irritated.

He’s dressed back into his dirty clothes, pushing, dragged, shoved, out until he’s forced into a black car where James Moriarty—his new owner—is sitting with his phone out typing something on the keyboard.

No orders or directions are given, so Sebastian settles on the floor of the car, legs pulled under him and curled up to fit his long body into the small space he’s given. He knows better than to assume he’s allowed to get up to sit normally. Seats are privileges. From his position, Sebastian looks up for a second towards Moriarty, watching as he puts his phone back into his jacket pocket along with something else grasped between his fingers.

It’s a check torn from the book and his eyes are sharp enough to know that color of red staining the edge of it.

Sebastian let’s his head fall down and his eyes fall with it.

He knows how to fight. Knows when to pick his battles. He’s learned quickly and knows how to survive by now.

The familiar press of heels digs into his back and he curls up even more, so his spin bends better to meet them.  Moriarty stretches out, crosses his legs, and Sebastian can feel the smile directed at him.

“Good boy.”

Nails scrap against the plush carpet below his fingers until the broken bone makes his nerves scream. He focuses on the hard cramped feeling in his knees. Every turn and bump that jars his body and the spinning of his head.

He accepts it.

The drive is long to the point that, at some time, Sebastian finds the bumps of the car lulling him asleep in a way that is more from the actual annoyance of pain then the need to rest. He doesn’t know how long he’s out, but when he wakes with a sharp kick to the small of his back his mind is groggy enough that he goes into a swinging punch out of defense. There’s no one to hit and nowhere to turn in the small space of the floor, so Sebastian just struggles for another second before he gives up and waits.

“Out.” The order comes from behind him in the voice of his new master that he still needs to brand into his ears, become accustom to it. He crawls out backwards until he’s outside and pauses for a moment, not knowing what to do as Moriarty is just staring at him so, from past experience, Sebastian kneels instead of stands, waiting.

The concrete is harder on his knees then the car, but he keeps in the position, having no idea what to expect from the man. He knows almost nothing about him except he has enough money to buy the world and enough power to burn it all down. Sebastian has little more than a name and that leaves him feeling more on edge than anything else. He’s only ever known the burn of one hand before, and this new one is still uncertain. He doesn’t know how hard to brace just yet.

He’s there on the sidewalk for who knows how long, with people walking past and not even turning an eye to look down at him and think pity. It’s still common practice and no one thinks otherwise. Not even another slave who walks past with his arms full of shopping and a limp to his step. There is no pity in the world for either of them and Sebastian knows this, expects none.

“Stand up. Come with me inside.”

And Sebastian does.

Sebastian can’t remember that last time he was ‘inside’. Where the sun came in through the windows and warmed the air and left a pale yellow light everywhere that didn’t burn too hot and could be so easily shut out by the shifting of curtains. He’d forgotten how cool air feels on your skin and how good the smell of clean was. How white walls could look without dirt. How smooth wood was against your feet, how cold tile, or how plush thick carpet was. He let his fingers grace over the leather fabric of the sofa and found his mouth gaped open in awe, wetness brimming at his eyes. He pushes the boundaries even more by touching a pillow, decorative and small with little tassels that dangle from every side. It feels like soap and silk and the sweetest things Sebastian could remember. It’s heaven and he knows that’s conditioned, it’s twisted, because he had no memory of soft cushions and doesn’t recall how safe walls could feel around him instead of those that closed in and choked off. The breathe in his throat catches, makes him cough and cough until he can breathe again and spins on his feet to take it all in.

Moriarty is watching him when he turns with a smile on his face that Sebastian doesn’t quite like. It doesn’t reach his eyes at all, leaves an ache in Sebastian’s stomach and his muscles tense to flinch. He stops looking around, stops stealing little touches, and once more falls to his knees in a single movement, the loud ‘thud’ echoing off the bounce of wooden floors and Sebastian bites his tongue from the pain.

A pause. And then. “You’ll be staying here, with me.” Moriarty’s voice begins and Sebastian instantly puts his head down in submission, even though the very thought of staying in such a beautiful place is so foreign and exciting his heart soars. “As of right now, your actual duties are yet to be determined. Only know that you will do exactly as I say when I say it and you will continue to fight for me in the cages, twice a week until I decide otherwise.” Feet start to move, expensive shoes tapping against the floors as Moriarty shifts back and forth while he speaks. “I understand that you were made to be mute by your previous master and, because of this, I have a few questions that you will nod yes or no as an answer. Understand?”

There are hidden meanings behind all those words, Sebastian can tell, but for now he can’t be bothered with that and simple nods out his answer, _yes._

“Have you managed to speak any word since he cut your vocal cords?”

_No._

“Pity. But you can make sounds?”

_Yes._

“Can you read?”

Sebastian takes a moment to answer this, thinking, because he hasn’t read any sort of book since he can remember, but he knows he can still read, if only by as much as he was taught before he was enslaved.

His world doesn’t revolve around words anymore.

_Yes,_ he finally nods and Moriarty seems pleased enough.

“Can you write?”

It’s in the same boat as reading, but, _Yes._ He still remembers the alphabet and how to put it together.

“Good. If I expect an actual answer from you, as of right now I will have you write things out when prompted, understand?”

_Yes._

“Now, I am aware that you’re name is Tiger in the ring. I’m wondering if you have an actual name besides the number on your wrist.” Sebastian glances down at the band and the black numbers that are printed on it. He risks a half look up at Moriarty who doesn’t seem to mind. “There is paper and a pen on the counter in the kitchen. If you have a proper name, go in there and write it out for me. Now.”

Sebastian rises up to his feet automatically, following the point of Moriarty’s finger into the kitchen where, as instructed, finds a little pad of paper and a pen sitting there. He grasps the little thing in his hand and it feels so utterly foreign. He has to use his right hand as the finger on his left is still throbbing dully in a way that is inconveniently annoying at this rate. There is a second where he really does forget how to write, how letters fit together into words, because the last time he’s ever written something was before he watched his parents getting buried and he’s not totally sure that he can anymore. But, he can feel eyes burning into the back of his head all the same, so Sebastian licks his lips nervously and scrawls out with a too-tight grip that is used to breaking bodies instead of holding pens.

_S-E-B-A-S-T-I-A-N_

He manages to get out, slowly, in letters that are clearly still from the skill level of a primary school student. It took him a long while to remember which way the ‘S’s were supposed to curve, but he’s sure he’s got it right. He thinks. Even so, Sebastian finds himself proud, both of the fact that he’s remember how to spell his name and in remembering he has one. It makes his chest swell with something warm for the first time in months and he steps away to show his owner, tapping lightly at the counter as if to say ‘ _come look what I’ve done!_ ’ and he feels so much younger then he really is.

“Sebastian.” Moriarty says it and looks to the name’s owner, who bristle with pride, standing taller. “Alright then, Sebastian. And how old are you?”

With this, Sebastian frowns. His shoulders slump and his gaze falls to the floor. Because…well, because he doesn’t know. Days aren’t important. Years aren’t either. And the last time he thought about it he thinks he was twelve or thirteen, but really that’s still a guess and it had to have been some time ago. He’s grown a lot, stands just a bit taller than his master now, so he has to be older. Right? He looks to his master, as if he’d have the answer, and his look of sorrow is returned with nothing but a blank stare. So, Sebastian thinks. Tries to, but…

Again, he takes up the pen and slowly writes once more.

_W-H-A-T   Y-E-A-R   I-S   I-T?_

He steps back and let’s Moriarty read and a moment later is given an answer.

“2012”

Sebastian takes a moment, counting on his fingers and licks his lips again in concentration. A long minute passed before he finally counts out the right numbers on his fingers and looks at Moriarty again, surprise written on his face this time. A small little gurgle leaves his throat as he moves to write.

_1-6_

The answer seems to please Moriarty in a way that Sebastian doesn’t understand. When he looks back at the man, he’s smiling which makes Sebastian want to step back from him, but he doesn’t. Freezes, remains where he is.

“Sixteen. Oh, good boy, Sebastian.” His name is repeated which eases the teen’s mind enough that he doesn’t want to run, which is stupid because he’s been trained to fight. All the more, he feels his master’s hand in his hair, nails scrubbing over his scalp in a way that makes his spine curl. A soft sound leaves his throat this time, his eyes close without him noticing, because the touch feels so sweet from what he’s used to, even though the touch edges towards pain and his hair is pulled just a little too hard between fingers, but it’s still nice enough that Sebastian finds he’s leaning into it, wanting more and almost whining when the hand is removed. “Good boy.”

The praise is welcome and so is the petting. Sebastian quickly finds that he utterly craves it.

Over time, Sebastian learns to call Moriarty ‘Jim’ or rather—he writes whenever necessary. It took a while to get used to, as he’s all too familiar with the consequences of what happens when not addressing a superior as ‘Sir’ or ‘Ma’am’ or ‘Master’. Even when he writes it, for the first few weeks his hand shakes with it and he winces when presenting Jim with his questions, expecting some sort of negative feedback from the use of his first name. Instead he gets the same scratch-pull to his hair whenever he does and after a while Sebastian’s hands don’t shake anymore.

In the same respect, Sebastian’s own name is used like a treat. Jim doesn’t always call him ‘Sebastian’ and with that, he wants to do so much better so the other man does call out his name. It varies what Jim calls him, depending on where they are and what Jim’s mood is like. ‘Tiger’ is normally used when they go to fights or when he wants to get Sebastian’s blood pumping in his chest. ‘Pet’ is a common one whenever they’re home and Sebastian knows to play submissive because there is always a sharp little edge to that word when spoken from Jim’s lips. The other one—one he’s still trying to understand—is ‘Basher’. It’s rarer than the other two, spoken whenever Sebastian is taken along with Jim to whatever business he has, standing in the corner of meetings and only mentioned whenever Jim feels the need to get some sort of reaction out of whoever he’s with. Most of the time it’s fear and from what Sebastian has picked up on, he knows that his master is some sort of Mafia boss or criminal mastermind—it involves a lot of money and killing people at points. Phone calls and emails and meetings. Sebastian doesn’t really mind and, even if he did, there was really no place for him to object.

It’s sort of nice, really, having this change of scenery. He gets to stay inside, gets to sleep in Jim’s room in the corner with enough pillows and blankets to know he’ll never be uncomfortable and he never wakes up with an ache in his neck or back. The band around his wrist is replaced by a thick leather collar a week into his new ownership that’s imprinted with his number and the initials ‘JM’ to show who he belongs to. Sebastian’s aware that his position as a slave is almost the same as house pet at points, but it’s better then what he left behind. He doesn’t like to think about it, so he doesn’t.

Jim isn’t cruel, either. He’s only ever hit Sebastian whenever he’s disobeyed an order or not followed commands in the way Jim likes. That, and there are points where Jim’s mood shifts so rapidly that Sebastian doesn’t realize it until he’s on his back with blood dripping into his eyes and black spots dancing in his vision. He does know that, even though Jim doesn’t punish often, when he does it’s something to fear. It’s never the same and it’s always creative in some way that leaves Sebastian guessing, hyperventilating, and trying to figure out quickly what he did wrong so he would never do it again.

It’s all nice and it grows familiar. Sebastian knows now the perfect combination of pillows in his little corner and the rotation of each to keep them all fluffed. He knows that he fights on Tuesdays and Fridays and those are the nights Jim gives him the most praise, uses his name, because he always wins for Jim. Always puts on a show, just to make sure he never disappoints the man and all the treats that follow are worth it—he’s allowed warm bathes to let his muscles stop aching, allowed up at the kitchen table to eat and, afterwards, Jim cards his hand through Sebastian’s hair while he sends off a few emails from his phone or laptop. At points, Sebastian presses against Jim’s leg and makes little rumbles of noises that vibrate through his throat to which he finds that Jim greatly enjoys hearing. He’ll continue to make them as long as Jim continues touching him, even though in the mornings his throat is raw and sore and sometimes he finds himself coughing up little drops of blood because of it. Still, he doesn’t care.

It’s not until almost three months into his new ownership that there’s a change. Sebastian’s comfortable with the little routine he’s grown accustom to and suddenly Jim’s not home Tuesday to take him to the usual fight. He waits up all night, falls asleep by the door when the sun starts to come in through the windows. He’s worried and can’t do anything at all, not able to leave the flat without Jim and not able to even communicate with anyone to ask where he might be. For the day, Sebastian is lost, finds himself sleeping, waiting, pacing back and forth through the halls. He doesn’t eat at all, because he’s not sure he’s allowed and doesn’t think he’d be able to keep anything down with the worry clenching tight in his gut.

It’s not until much later that night does he hear the door open and Sebastian almost trips over himself with the speed to get to the door as soon as possible to greet Jim. He falls to his knees and bows his head at the door, making a pathetic little whimpered sound in his throat. He feels the all too wonderful hand in his hair that makes Sebastian’s chest tighten, leans into it because he missed it, missed his master, and somewhere along the lines that’s sick, he knows, but he craves it.

Nothing strikes him further until the hand is suddenly not leaving his hair, fingers clenching even tighter to the roots and his head is pulled back with the force of Jim not letting go. Sebastian falls from his knees and kicks out, trying to whimper louder, looking up at Jim which only makes the pain in his hair worse.

He catches sight of the side of Jim’s face, dark and frowning and eyes made of black glass, not looking at anything at all as he drags Sebastian down the hallway by the grip on his head. His suit is a bit rumbled instead of the clean crisp it always it and his shoes seem to click louder on the wooden floorboards than usual. Sebastian can do little more than attempt his noises of protests and crawl along after Jim, trying to keep pace so his hair doesn’t get pulled out.

He knows Jim’s taken him back to his bedroom by the change in flooring. The thought only lasts a split second before Jim throws him down to the ground with an order.

“Strip. On the bed. Now.”

Sebastian looks up and sees Jim staring down at him, eyes just as dark and black as ever, fingers moving to loosen his tie and pull his jacket off and to the ground. He goes utterly still for a moment, mind totally silent as he just stares.

There’s no patients for tonight and a swift kick thrown into Sebastian’s stomach makes him aware of the order once more.

He doesn’t want to, because he’s naïve at points but he’s all too aware of what this is. He’s reminded of rumors inside a big house and cries, screams, in the night, and a girl who grips his arms too tight and begs with her voice and eyes and is still dragged away even with all the efforts Sebastian put forth in an attempt stop it.

Sebastian wants to protest for the first time since Jim bought him. Go against the order, but his voice is gone and his little notepad is sitting in his own bed with all the plush cushions and warm blankets and it seems so safe right now, in the corner away from Jim and he can’t, he can’t! So, he shakes his head ‘no’ and backs up on his heels. He’s not familiar with this, doesn’t know what he did wrong, can’t get his mind working fast enough to think.

“I said _now_ , Sebastian!”

The name gets him. He’s not sure if Jim is aware he said it or not, if he is consciously using it against the slave, but Sebastian obeys after that, slowly ducking his head down and crawling his way over to the bed’s side. He doesn’t want to. Feels like he might be sick. But Jim had at least used his name. This wouldn’t be so bad.

The bed is so big when he gets on top of it, kneeling naked, body shaking as he watches Jim strip down further, waiting for his next order as he does not know what to do. He’s never had sex before, though he has touched himself on occasion when it’s necessary that his body stop asking for it. It was never often, just enough for him to know what it felt like, how his heart raced, and how an orgasm left him tired and sticky. There was never an opportunity to bed one of the house slaves when he was under the ownership of Hale, and Sebastian had never even thought of having sex with a man until now.

“On your hands and knees. Face the wall.” The order comes and Sebastian answers it quicker this time, turning fast to get into position, not knowing what to expect from his master at all.

He feels the dip in the bed, but doesn’t dare turn his head to see. He can feel Jim’s body heat behind him before he properly feels him, but when he does—hands gripping his hips, raising them up, squeezing just tight enough to keep him still—Sebastian takes in a sharp inhale of breathe that leaves him dizzy.

Sebastian has been deprived of any sort of soft touch in years. It’s the reason he so craves whatever Jim gives him, though he doesn’t know this, but still begs for it all the same. It’s why the feeling of those hands running over his ribs feels like heaven. Why the light sting of nails scratching down his back leaves Sebastian pressing his face into the pillows of Jim’s bed—somewhere he’s never been allowed before—and suddenly everything smells like Jim, is Jim, and he simply can’t get enough.

He jerks upwards when a hand lands with a sharp slap to his thigh, making him cry out as best his mangled throat will allow.

“Keep your face up. I want to hear you.”

Sebastian just nods his compliance and a second later he’s squirming, gasping, doesn’t know what to do because Jim’s working a slicked finger inside of him, pressing all the way in without any sort of hesitation. It’s a strange feeling that Sebastian barely gets used to before there is a second entering him with a burn as he’s stretched out. His mind is torn between it feeling good and it feeling horrible, pull back, run away, he doesn’t want this and yet he needs it all the same. And, besides, he’s had worse. He’s broken bones and bled from beatings and known how it feels to gasp for air that never wants to come in your lungs ever again.

The third finger makes Sebastian’s fists white knuckle into the bedding all the same. With instinct alone, he tries to form words in his throat to tell Jim to stop, beg him to pull out, but it’s only choked little sounds that fall from his lips that leave everything hurting that much more. He can’t even tell Jim ‘no’ and that makes his heart hurt more than anything else.

“Breathe, baby. Daddy won’t hurt you, don’t worry. Make you feel so good, pet. You’ll love it,” Jim babbles as he works, twisting his fingers inside Sebastian until he gasps, pulls them out and presses them back in to leave his entire body shaking with the feeling and he can’t tell if Jim is a liar or not.

Sebastian doesn’t understand at all, but he obeys all the same. He tries to breathe, relax, thinks that maybe this will be easier if he does. There’s a moment where it does become easier as Jim pulls his fingers free from Sebastian’s body. He feels wet and loose and slightly sore, but the burn is pretty much gone and there isn’t the feeling of fullness inside him anymore.

The relief doesn’t last long, however, because suddenly Jim is pressing into him with something bigger, solid, shoves until it’s all the way inside Sebastian who screams silently and knows he won’t be able to stop coughing because of it tomorrow.

“You’re so tight, pet. So fucking warm, Sebastian. Wonderful.” He hears Jim from behind him, feels it as he begins to thrust, and it feels so much like care to him that it eases his mind, if not his body, and lets him relax enough to take it.

The sound of his own panting and the rough slap of skin against skin is in his ears, fighting against the rush of blood that makes his head swim. He presses his forehead onto his arms, making sure that his mouth is still open for Jim to hear whatever sounds he makes. With the shift, Sebastian angles his arse upwards further, which makes Jim moan loud and shove his cock that much harder into him.

It seems to last forever, to the point that the horrible ache in Sebastian’s backside edges down into a slow build of pressure. He keeps makes little sounds, gurgles, and jerks his hips to meet his master’s thrusts whenever Jim’s cock presses inside him in just the right way.

Sebastian doesn’t even realize he’s hard until Jim’s hand wraps around him, forcing his body to shutter from the fingers just holding him. It’s too much when Jim starts to pull, smearing pre-come all over until his hand is gliding and Sebastian can’t help the way he jerks into the hand. With his inexperience and the mental overload of all the pleasant touches leaving his nerves feeling on fire, Sebastian doesn’t last long. He shakes, pulls at the sheets, and arches his back as he comes into Jim’s hand who is pressed against his back uttering such wonderful words of praise into his ear that Sebastian feels he might just get hard again.

After he’s drained, Sebastian can’t hold himself up any longer and falls forward onto his arms with a broken little whimper as a sort of apology to his master. It doesn’t seem to matter at all to Jim, who only grips Sebastian hip with one hand, driving into him faster and deeper than before, while the other—the one that still covered in Sebastian’s cum—drags into the slave’s hair and pulls until his neck is strained. 

Jim comes like that, balls deep in Sebastian with a loud moan, nails cutting into his skin, and fingers sticky, gripping tight into his hair. Sebastian doesn’t mind at all, feels too tired himself to even notice, only lets out a quiet half-groan at the feeling of Jim releasing inside him.

They’re both panting hard by the end of it all. Sebastian feels utterly used in the best way possible, doesn’t mind the sharp pain in his arse and doesn’t care that Jim just falls on top of him instead of pulling out to roll to the side. He feels Jim’s cock get soft inside him and still the older man doesn’t move, just lays there and plants sucking kisses to the back of Sebastian’s neck until he’s marked up with red blood-bruises.  He’s heavy, presses Sebastian down, and he thinks to himself if it’s because Jim wants him to get familiar with that weight.

That’s the last thought he has before falling asleep in Jim’s bed, not even wondering if he’s actually allowed to or not.

The morning that follows has Sebastian on his back with Jim’s cock down his throat. He keeps saying how much he loves Sebastian’s mouth, how he loves the look of it, the sound of it, how the scar tissue at the back of Sebastian’s throat makes him want to just stay there all day. Sebastian says nothing in return, of course, but he does gurgle around the mouthful, coughs when he’s given air and tries his hardest not to gage, but he’s never done this before and his toes curl when it gets to be a little too much and still he takes more, it’s forced, and all Sebastian can think of is he’ll get used to it.

Things return to something like normal, except now Jim likes to fuck him whenever he feels the urge. Sebastian finds that, after some time, he enjoys it as well in his twisted little brain; feelings so proud of himself whenever Jim tells him how good he feels or whenever he makes Jim come. It’s nice even when Jim forces him, takes him rough and leaves him bruised and sometimes bloody. Sebastian doesn’t care, however, as every time they fuck—at least the times when they end up in the bedroom—he’s always allowed to sleep in Jim’s bed. He grows comfortable with it and finds when he wakes before Jim, his body is always curled close to Jim’s own.

The fucking somehow replaces his usual fights, which Sebastian thinks is odd. He has multiple questions written down in his notepad about it, flips to them every once in a while, points, taps, but Jim only ever smiles at him and scrubs a hand through Sebastian hair that makes him stop asking.

Even so, his body grows restless with it. He had energy he needs to get out and there’s nothing to do but punch the walls.

That’s when Jim comes home one day with a big black case that he sets down on the counter, beckoning Sebastian forward to look.

“Do you miss fighting, Sebastian?”

_Yes._ The answer is immediate with the addition of his name, head nodding quickly not caring where this was leading.

“And you want to keep me happy, pet?”

More nodding. _Yes._

“Safe?”

This question sparks something, but Sebastian still nods his _‘yes’_ none the less.

“Good boy. Now, tell me, have you ever shot a gun before?”

He pauses, looking questioningly at his master who’s still just smiling all the same. He moves, unclasps the little buckles of the black case and opens it for Sebastian to look inside.

Sebastian recalls a time when he was out on a cool moor with mist and people that he can’t remember the faces of anymore. He remembers the loud bang of triggers. The crack of ceramic plates and the shaking of fingers. He remembers how steady those fingers became as time went on. How the beating in his chest steadied after some point and the fear died down to a thrill.

Sebastian takes one look at Jim, asking permission with his eyes, before he moves forward and runs his fingers over the black metal barrel, smooth and cold under his touch and thinks he feels something like home within it. Wonders how burning hot it would be after it’s shot.

Sebastian pulls out his little note pad, flips to the first clean page and quickly writes out in his ever-learning elementary hand one word:

_W-H-E-N-?_

And Jim smiles even wider.


	4. Chapter 4

His first kill with a gun is sloppy. It leaves him shaking and bloodied with his ears ringing well after the gunfire sounded. Jim hits him when he gets home, hits him until he’s bruised and Sebastian makes no move to defend himself, because he knows that will just leave his owner angrier.

Afterwards, when he’s given permission to crawl into the bathroom to clean himself up, Sebastian wonders what would have happened if he missed; failed the mission. The thought leaves him vomiting stomach acid into the toilet as Jim hadn’t fed him yet. It burns up his throat horribly, which only leaves him dry heaving for a while. His lips are red tinted when he’s finally done, spitting blood and saliva into the bowl before rising, shaking, to his feet.

He promises silently to never let such a bad job happen again, fearing both Jim’s wrath and the disapproving look in his eyes.

It takes him the better part of a month, constant practice, and another dozen hits-- ten kills, two misses-- until Sebastian finally starts to get the hang of it. It’s then that he comes home from a job to feel Jim’s fingers in his hair again, is allowed access into the fridge again without permission, even receives the verbal praising telling how proud Jim is of him, how he’s so happy with Sebastian’s progress.

That phrase makes Sebastian feel like some project when he thinks about it. Like Jim only bought him just to see if he could shape him into something that he found worthy of his time. An experiment that he can play with, mold into whatever he wants just to see if he can-- and he can, has-- because Jim is now Sebastian’s everything, would do anything, not question it at all because Jim is Sebastian’s life and there is nothing else but that.

Such a thought makes Sebastian wonder if that, at some point, this would stop. After he’s become the perfect little slave Jim would grow bored and throw him away, give him up to someone else so he can start over again fresh. It makes him feel sick, panic, so he pushes those horrible thoughts to the further part of his mind and does everything in his power to make Jim happy.

He thinks it’s working when, one evening, while Sebastian has just finished his bathing  and is about to curl up in his little corner bed for the night, Jim comes in with a smile on his face that makes Sebastian still, standing up straighter now.

“I got you a present, Pet.” Jim coes and with a crook of his finger, Sebastian is crawling over to the side of his bed, kneeling in wait. He’s hesitant about ‘presents’ because he’s never sure what they could be. If they will hurt or not. So he waits, looking up at Jim with his eyes glazed with confusion before, finally, Jim pulls out a little box from behind his back. Sebastian holds back his flinch just barely, muscles tight throughout his entire body as his mind races as to think what he might have done to deserve some sort of ‘present’.

Jim’s in a good mood, he has been all day, but that means nothing. There’s always the chance that he had a mood swing while Sebastian was in the bathroom and he’s decided to make things ‘fun’ for the night. Last time that happened the box Jim produced then contained a shock collar to replace his usual one. It left him sobbing into Jim’s pillow after only an hour of playing with the different voltages. Every muscle in his neck and back kept spasming, making it hard to breathe along with the blisters that surrounded the collar along his throat. Jim got bored after that because he had to keep slapping Sebastian awake when he passed out and the slave could no longer make any more noises that brought him such pleasure.  

He removed it after that, letting Sebastian go limp as he passed out on Jim’s bed without the permission to actual do so. Jim hasn’t touched it since, which Sebastian is very grateful for, as he learned quickly he hates the smell of burning skin and hair. It’s used as a threat sometimes, but other than that it’s stayed inside Jim’s bedside drawer where he keeps all the other toys-- well aware of what he hides in there by now.

Luckily, this time, when Jim opens the little box Sebastian has nothing to fear. He pulls out a cell phone much like the one Sebastian sees his owner using constantly, lifting his gaze from the small device to Jim in question.

“When you go out on hits so I can give you orders still.” Is the simple explanation he’s given, which Sebastian doesn’t argue with at all and takes slowly from Jim’s hand.

Before he goes off to sleep, Sebastian says thank you for his present by sucking Jim off. He’s gotten used to the feeling of the length in his mouth and doesn’t panic anymore when it slides too far down his throat so much that it cuts off his air. He can kneel between Jim’s feet all day if need be just holding Jim’s cock in his mouth because his master loves it so much. Sebastian does enjoy the activity himself, because it means he gets to have Jim’s hands in his hair even more. It’s more demanding than the strokes he’s normally given with praise, but it’s almost as good and doesn’t pull back at all whenever Jim pushes him down, just as long as those fingers stay threaded through his hair and the voice above keeps saying ‘Good boy, make Daddy come.’.

The first time Sebastian turns on his cell phone, he doesn’t know what to do with it. It has the capacity to do everything Jim’s phone does-- with his emails and applications and everything else normal phones do-- but Sebastian is lost with all the buttons, screen, and all the settings. The phone is practically useless to him-- he has no use for internet, games, even talking on the phone which he obviously can’t, but that’s not why Jim gave it to him, he knows.

It’s an extension, he soon learns, of his useless throat as the device vibrates in his palm in a way that Sebastian thinks is because he’s been staring at the dark screen too long. The motion and noise surprise him, as does the little message that appears on the screen only to disappear-- appearing again when Sebastian swipes his finger to read.

It’s an address, a name, and time, signed with a sense of completion and demand by the initials ‘ _JM’_ that Sebastian knows so well from staring at them reflected in the mirror as fingers run over the indents of leather against his throat.

His reply is almost instant, typing out as quick as his unskilled fingers can, the short confirmation and is up to get his boots and gun in no time.

Sebastian’s always happy to kill for Jim, it gives him a sense of purpose that nothing else in his life ever has. It’s better than killing someone in a cage, surrounded by the cries of other men, even though Jim had been watching then too-- but now it’s really _for_ him. It’s not another nameless slave for Sebastian to rip apart, it’s someone important or important enough to his owner that he’s asked Sebastian personally to get rid of. It’s not a show to be put on, though he is aware Jim is always watching, but instead an art that takes time and patience and just the right angle. It’s perfect and beautiful and every time Sebastian returns to the flat to have Jim coo his name, he knows he’s doing something right.

When he returns this time with muddy gravel embedded in his boots from the heavy rain that came on two hours before, hair wet and clinging to his face, Sebastian isn’t expecting Jim to be home just yet. It’s still a little too early, but for some reason when Sebastian looks around upon entering the flat something seems... off. It’s not blatant, but as soon as Sebastian lets the door click closed behind him, his entire body gives a strong shudder that had nothing to do with his rain soaked clothes.   

A second later, he knows why.

“Jim?” A voice calls that is both slightly familiar and horribly off at the same time. It’s too cheery, a little bit higher, softer spoken then what Sebastian is used to and because of his his body reacts as such-- tensing up, shifting his feet and the weight placement on each as he got ready to strike out, defend.

“Jim, are you there? You-- oh, you’re not Jim.”

His entire body is ready for attack, all coiled muscles and stored up energy. He hasn’t fought for some time now, but survival has been engraved into his bones and obedience branded inside the back of his skull, so Sebastian has no troubles going down in a mess of blood and limbs if it means protecting the flat, his master’s home. Except, of course, Sebastian is not prepared for what comes next. Because suddenly-- suddenly-- the voice has a face that looks a lot like Jim, too much like Jim, and it leaves him at a complete loss.

He almost falls to his knees. Almost wants to lower his entire body, grovel for taking a fighting stance against his master, but in all truth Sebastian is all too shocked to do anything. Jim’s looking back at him, Jim was standing right in front of him wearing a pair of loose jeans and a low-cut shirt and an old looking ruffled cardigan with hair that looks like he’d ran his fingers through it one too many times in too many directions and it was Jim, but it wasn’t, it wasn’t at all because…

The eyes. It had to be the eyes. They were big and wet and every time Sebastian looked in them he got this horrible ache in his gut. They were the color of Jim’s, but brighter. As soon there was more light in them, more soul and good and…and…

There was an edge of panic that stabbed inside his body. Sebastian didn’t know what to do. His instincts told him to attack, to tear the throat out of this intruder and present Jim with his bloodied hands when he got home. He’d get a coo of his name for that, maybe even be allowed to sit at the table to eat and yet, Sebastian’s body refused to move. Even if he wanted to hurt this intruder, his mind refused to let him because he looked exactly like Jim and there is so utterly wrong about that.

Realization comes that he’s been staring. He’s shaking too, but he doesn’t focus on that too much. The Jim-not-Jim is staring too, eyes running up and down Sebastian before he blinks and tries on a very small, very uneasy smile that is everything that Jim is not.

“Oh...he didn’t tell me he had a slave.”

That sentence seems to break whatever trance Sebastian is in. He can’t help it, he freaks.

He can’t talk to ask questions and he can’t just start breaking bones, because what if this is some sort of trick? What if that’s not the right thing to do? Sebastian starts pacing, he doesn’t know what else to do, but right now standing still seems like the worst possible choice. He swipes out at the coffee table not meaning to and the lamp that sat on it falls, crashes, shatters to the floor in shards that make Sebastian glad that he had not yet taken his shoes off. Later, he’ll be punished for it, but right now it is far from Sebastian’s mind.

His routine has been disrupted, life feels like it’s crashing down around him. His fingers shake almost too much to get his phone out of his pocket, far too much to type, so he ends up doing something he’s never done before and calls Jim.

The voice that answers is equal parts irritated and annoyed. It sounds right in Sebastian’s ears, which only makes him keen out, a sharp little broken sound at the back of his throat. It makes Jim curse at him, ask what the hell he wants, but all Sebastian can do is make more little half-noises as tears prickle at his eyes for the simple reason that he feels he’s not going away.

After a few more seconds of choked and broken sounds, frantic movements, and Jim growing more and more frustrated, Sebastian finally thrusts the phone into the stranger’s familiar face and waved it around desperately until, finally, he takes it.

“What the fuck is going on?!” He hears over the line before the not-Jim takes up the phone.

Sebastian doesn’t wait around to find the outcome of all this. He dashes back to Jim’s room, collapsed down onto his pile of pillows and buries himself into them, hiding under the blankets and tries desperately to breathe, but his body is still panicking so in the end, Sebastian passes out as his entire body shuts down on him.

\---

Like he figured, Sebastian is torn from his unrestful sleep with a fist curled into his hair that is anything but pleasant.

He’s hit for breaking the lamp.

Hit for overreacting.

His for calling Jim while he was in a meeting.

Hit for being rude to their guest.

And then he’s dragged out into the living room on his hands and knees to be introduced to Jim’s identical twin, Richard.

Sebastian doesn’t quite understand it, but he nods and lowers his head to the floor anyway, makes an apologetic sound and doesn’t look at either of them for the rest of the night, goes right back to bed when he knows Jim will allow it.

\---

Richard Brook stays with them. He showers where Jim and (when he’s allowed) Sebastian showers. He makes the bathroom smell like orange afterwards, which makes Sebastian curl his nose because it’s too sweet, doesn’t smell like Jim’s minty soap at all.

He cooks sometimes, but really Richard loves to bake. The first time Sebastian came home and the smell of fresh baked sweets hit his nose, he almost had a panic attack again for a reason he didn’t quite understand. The smell made him remember things that he wasn’t sure he wanted to while at the same time wasn’t sure was real. Richard saw the panicked look in his eyes, saw the uneven pattern of his chest, and managed to get Sebastian to sit down (not on the couch, he had refused to touch it even as Richard pushed him towards it, instead he fell to his knees in front of it and whimpered for a long while until Richard finally figured to put his fingers in his hair and it seemed to calm him down enough). A bit later, Richard had offered him one of the cookies he’d made, but Sebastian ignored him, refused, but that night when Jim offered him one Sebastian lapped the chocolate from his fingers in gratitude.

Richard stays around the flat most days. He goes for walks every once in a while and always invites Sebastian, but ends up going alone as Sebastian disappears into another room, doesn’t come out until either Jim gets home or he knows Richard is gone. He doesn’t know why Richard is staying there, but it’s not Sebastian’s place to question it, so he just goes about living in the same space with this nicer-version of Jim.

That’s what Sebastian has come to know him by, always in his head and only just that, as Richard is too kind in a way that he’s not used to. He always smiles softly, always offers Sebastian this and that, and all his touches are nothing more than pats and soft creases. It does the exact opposite, because it only ever leaves Sebastian feeling uncomfortable, as he’s so unused to this sort of attention.

Jim, on the other hand, loves Richard in a way that Sebastian figures is love, at least for Jim. He always smiles with Richard, eats whenever he makes dinner. Jim talks to his brother, gets a vocal response back, and Sebastian grows jealous because of it. He wants that with Jim, but can never have it. Wants Jim to seem so calm around him, so very at ease with purred out words and giggles. It’s strange, but Sebastian is jealous all the same even if he wouldn’t know what to do if he ever got Jim to be that happy around him.

The worst part, however, is Richard sleeps with Jim. They share the bed like old lovers, curled up against each other’s sides and snuggled close with legs entwined with one of their heads resting under the other’s chin. Sebastian watches them sleep from his pile on the ground, just watches them for a while without any emotion on his face and falls asleep much later then he should with a tight knot that makes his stomach ache.

They fuck too, which Sebastian is quite sure brothers don’t normally do. When it first happens, Sebastian isn’t expecting it. He’s crawled over to his bed for the night, tired from a long hit that day and quite happy to go to sleep without too many bruises plus his master seemed to be in a good enough mood. About fifteen minutes later, he’s certain he knows why, because he hears sounds coming from Jim’s bed that he only associates with whenever he’s been allowed up there. Little huffs, pants, moans that become more drawn out as time passes by.

Out of curiosity, he looks up, immediately wishing he didn’t do so, because Richard’s got his head between Jim’s legs, bobbing up and down in a manner that Sebastian himself is familiar with. Jim’s hands are in his hair, not gripping too hard or pushing him down, just directing while thrusting his hips up to get more.

He wants to make a noise, say something to get Jim’s attention and maybe even be allowed to crawl up on the bed to take Richard’s spot. He hasn’t been able to sleep with Jim since the twin’s arrival and each passing day makes Sebastian more and more stressed. He doesn’t like this addition to their life, this change.

Except, he stays quiet, watching for a little bit and finds himself panting softly when Richard pops off Jim’s dick and easily shimmies up to straddle him before sinking down to take the length inside his body. When they moan together, they sound like the same person echoing off the walls. Sebastian gives a low grumble, embarrassed to find himself hard from watching the scene unfold, hearing his master enjoy someone else. He’s blushing and attempting to curl in on himself, throw a blanket over his head to ignore the two only a few meters off.

They keep at it for at least another hour, moving together in a way that indicates they are familiar with each other’s bodies. Sebastian whines softly in the back of his throat, squeezing his eyes closed tight and knows he shouldn’t care, it’s not his place and Jim’s allowed to do whatever he wants. But he still feels utterly lost because of it.

That’s when he decides he really hates Richard.

\---

“You know, if you want, I can help you talk.”

Sebastian looks up from his position on the floor, the pieces of his gun spread out around him as he’s in the process of cleaning them all. He blinks up at Richard, confused for a moment before letting out a little huff of air, shaking his head, and goes right back to his work.

 “Oh—no, I mean. Communicate.” Richard continues, never seeming to be put off by Sebastian demeanor no matter how hard he tries to ignore the other.

The problem, Sebastian thinks, is Richard is simply too nice for his own good and likes to talk too much. Even without Sebastian’s voice or ever holding a proper conversation with his notepads, Richard still manages to fill in the blanks enough. He figures it’s something like Richard’s way of fighting off silence as the older never seems to like it all that much. The outcome is Richard talking to himself, holding conversations and muttering to himself while Sebastian just stares on with questioning looks. Around the second week of Richard’s elongating visit, Sebastian finds out he’s also an actor as he walks around the house totally lost to the world with a script in his hands, talking aloud and playing out different scenes. It’s not annoying so much as Sebastian hates the constant pacing back and forth, the change in voice, and wishes all the more that Richard was gone again.

Which, it seems, won’t be happening any time sooner.

Sebastian still isn’t reacting to Richard’s words, which is taken for something positive apparently as Richard pads over to sit down on the floor just outside of the little circle of metal pieces Sebastian has made around himself. He can’t help but look up, fingers clenching around the barrel of his rifle, wondering what the hell Richard is thinking.

“I can teach you.” Richard licks his lips then brings his hands up, doing a strange sort of motion with them that leaves Sebastian all the more confused. “Sign language, it’s called. I can teach it to you, so it’s faster for you to communicate with Jim and I.” Sebastian’s head cocks to the side, suddenly looking interested, and Richard gets it, smiles lightly before chuckling. “Yeah, Jim knows a little of it. He might be a bit rusty, but I taught him when I was learning it in school so I had someone to practice with. I—I figured it might help, working with kids and all.”

That didn’t matter, Sebastian didn’t care about why Richard learned it or whatever the hell he was going on about as he just focused in on the fact that Jim knew sign language and it would make it easier to talk to him. His gun now forgotten, Sebastian picks up his pad of paper, quickly scribbling out in his sudden excitement before showing it to Richard and tapping frantically at the page.

T-E-A-C-H  M-E  N-O-W.

And it’s sort of how something started that Sebastian really didn’t mean to happen.

\---

Richard’s not…bad. Per se.

He still brushes his fingers through Sebastian hair like he’s a child. There’s none of that rough tug-pull-soothe that Jim uses on him. There’s no demand in it that makes Sebastian want to lean in for more. His fingers are a little softer were skin meets scalp, his finger nails aren’t as tidy as Jim’s. He works through the little tangles like a mother might to her child. He comments about how he should probably get a haircut absently as he continues to let his fingers slide through too easily and it’s something like nice, not enough, and so uncomforting at the same time.

He still asks Sebastian to sit up on the furniture with him, but Sebastian still refuses because Jim didn’t tell him he could. It makes Sebastian feel like he’s doing something wrong, even if Jim’s told him on multiple occasions to ‘Be good for Richie, okay pet? Listen to what he says.’ But at least now Richard gives up after the first attempt, leaving Sebastian to kneel where he is or curl up on the carpet how he wants.

Sebastian’s taken to eating a little bit of the sweets Richard makes. Jim hasn’t told him no yet or refused him that, so sometimes he finds himself indulging. He likes it the most when Richard bakes chocolate cakes, likes the frosting when it’s whipped more so and, sometimes, he even takes up the offer of milk afterwards.

It’s nice, in a way. Richard’s not so bad, even if Sebastian still doesn’t like it when he’s woken up by moans and thinks that Jim hasn’t touched him once since his brother has come along. He can’t be doing too many things wrong, because Jim still keeps him—still calls him a good boy, still sends him out on jobs and still lets Sebastian press up against his leg when he’s relaxing on the couch. It’s enough, even when it’s not, and right now Sebastian can be content enough with that.

Learning is slow. It’s made easier because at least he still has his hearing, but trying to memorize all the signs to match them up with words is difficult. Like most things, however, Sebastian is determined mostly for the sole reasoning that he thinks Jim will like it. They’ll sit together, just the two of them, normally on the bedroom floor and sign back and forth slowly until Sebastian’s got the hand gestures down. He learns small phrases first, important ones, like ‘yes sir’ ‘thank you’ and ‘master’ all of which seem to make Richard a little uncomfortable, but he has no objections, at least not verbally, and teaching Sebastian whatever he wants.

Sebastian refuses to show Jim what he’s learned until he knows he’s perfected everything. It takes a good month before he greets Jim coming back to the flat with a slowly gestured out ‘welcome home’ that has Jim pausing for a moment, staring down at him long enough for Sebastian to rethink this whole thing, because maybe it was a bad idea, maybe Jim doesn’t want him learning anything new like this and it was stupid, stupid, he’d have to hate himself later, after the punishment, stupid!

But after a long time, Jim smiles down at him and goes through with the usual hand through hair, pulling a little harder then normal that leaves Sebastian moving with the hand, making a pleased little noise in his throat as he follows Jim around the flat for the rest of the night. He’s received with praise, all ‘good boy’ and ‘I’m proud of you, Sebastian’ that makes it hard for him to breathe for a little while.

Over dinner, Richard and Jim discuss Sebastian’s progress with Richard beaming like a proud little school teacher. Afterwards, Sebastian shows off what he knows by signing to Jim as he asks him questions—forming sentences with his hands and fingers, a wide smile on his face, because this is the most pleased Jim’s been with him in a while.

He’s pet for a long time before bed and Sebastian’s practically begging when Jim moves him back far enough to get his belt off and zipper down, trousers and pants getting shoved off his hips and Sebastian can barely wait to get the cock in his mouth, have it harden further against his tongue. It’s been a while since he’s been allowed to do this, so Sebastian goes at it with gusto. He slurps down Jim’s cock, doesn’t even need the guiding hands to force him down, because he goes so willingly, takes all of Jim that he can and still presses further for more.

Richard’s somewhere in the distance, hovering about and starting with concern in his eyes. Sebastian is very aware that Richard doesn’t approve of his slave status, doesn’t like that his brother owns one, which is probably why he’s so nice to him all the time and attempts to treat him like a normal human being—but it doesn’t work. Sebastian’s so used to this life style that anything else frightens him. He needs his master to please and needs the little gifts that come with being good or the punishments that are brought by the opposite.

Jim fucks his mouth and all Sebastian does is hum around him, nuzzles as much as he can against Jim’s stomach. His ears are filled with Jim’s groaned out words, all filthy things and good boy, good boy, good boy over and over again.

“Oh, baby, Daddy just loves this. The feel of your throat, all warm and wet around me, oh, Sebastian.”

Sebastian blinks up at him, mouth full, lips stretched around his prick, eyes wet with tears from forcing himself to not gag and, suddenly, Sebastian has an idea.

He’s allowed to nuzzle against Jim for a while afterwards, but not sleep beside him. It’s not a full blown fuck, but Sebastian’s grateful all the same as it means his master hasn’t totally forgotten about him. It revives him somehow and, the next day, as soon as Jim leaves with a way and a ‘don’t wait up’ even though both of the men he was leaving behind would wait with held breathe for him to get back (because, yeah, Sebastian’s not dull enough to miss the look of utter happiness whenever Jim walks through the door—he doesn’t fall on his knees like Sebastian does, but it’s enough to know he might very much like the idea), Sebastian goes up to Richard with his note pad to quickly scrawl the words down, something he only does when asking for something he doesn’t know how to sign yet.

T-E-A-C-H  M-E  D-A-D-D-Y

He writes and, as soon as Richard reads it, he grows a bit concerned.

“Excuse me?” He asks, voice softer than normal, hesitant almost as he looks up at Sebastian who’s only concern is getting Richard to understand.

D-A-D-D-Y

Sebastian writes out once more, tapping frantically at the word and mouths out the right syllables which only turns into a loud whine that hurts his throat.

In the end, Richard gives in if only just, wanting Sebastian to not damaging his throat before he rips something and starts coughing too much which will only lead to blood spattering his lips. He sits with Sebastian as he normally does to teach him words, repeating the gestures over and over again while his hands shake. If Sebastian notices, he doesn’t mind, simply stares all the harder to get the motions just right.

Afterwards, Richard says nothing about it, looks away sadly as Sebastian gets up happy with his new word, repeating the sign over and over again as he leaves the room.

\---

It’s another week before Sebastian decides to use it, easily being able to do the motion in his sleep now with how often he’s pressed his thumb to his head, extending his hand, and always with a wide smile on his face. It’s the closest thing he’ll be able to get to really calling Jim ‘Daddy’ like how he clearly likes. It’s a pattern that he’s caught on to, whenever Jim presses him down on the bed or wall or sofa to ram inside his throat or arse, there is always the follow of ‘daddy’ within the dirty talk. For now, Sebastian has only been able to settle with repeating it over and over in his head, but that does nothing for him or Jim and now here he was, kneeling by the door like the good little slave he was in wait, barely able to contain his excitement.

He misses the sad look Richard gives him. The way he shakes his head and the way he disappears into the back room, not wanting to watch this.

It plays out in his head perfectly. He’ll smile up at Jim as soon as the door opens, sign to him ‘Welcome home,’ like he usual does but add on the ‘Daddy’ bit at the end. It’ll take Jim by surprise, for just a second, and then after it filters through his head and he remembers what the sign means he’ll smile in that devilish way that Jim does. He’ll drag Sebastian by his hair in the best way possible to throw him over the arm of the couch, shove off his clothes and fuck him raw. It’ll hurt and burn and possibly bleed, but Sebastian will make every single noise he can, thrust back to get Jim deeper, and beg with his body for more.

It’s the perfect scenario that he keeps going back to and, sometimes, at the end of it he adds on how they’ll sleep together afterwards in Jim’s bed, so Sebastian can wake up with Jim beside him again.

Sebastian wishes for all this, but it doesn’t turn out the way he planned.

It’s nothing how he imagined.

Because the door open and Sebastian barely even has time to smile before a hand is striking him across the face. A second quickly follows, making him fall back to the floor as he bites his tongue, trying his hardest not to make a sound. The kick to his stomach forces his body to curl in on itself. Sebastian doesn’t understand, he hasn’t done anything wrong, but at the same time he knows Jim’s moods. How drastically they change, so maybe he just has to wait it out. 

Another kick comes, but it’s not followed by anything else, so very hesitantly, Sebastian peeks open his eyes to look up into the dark eyes of his master, burning bright with angry as his fists curl and body shakes with the emotions.

 “Put on your boots.” He says, voice a deep growl that holds all the authority that Sebastian needs to not pause for anything. “We’re going to the cages. You have a lion to fight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got the idea of the final chapter done, like...I know what I want to happen, but some of the stuff in this chapter are ruining that. So, bare with me.
> 
> Oh, and I'm horribly sorry for how shitty this chapter probably is. I'm too tired right now to care or edit anything. Bleh. Might do tomorrow.
> 
> Also, question for final chapter: graphic sex scene or no graphic sex scene?
> 
> Can do either or. Totally your choice. Anyway, on with it!


End file.
